


All the Hours Between

by Launch97



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rebirth, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Launch97/pseuds/Launch97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one said immortality was easy, but no one ever said it would be this hard.</p><p>(In which Merlin continues life through the ages and Arthur is reborn over and over.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Hours Between

**Author's Note:**

> Thought of this while listening to Selena Gomez and the Scene's Like a Love Song. Hope you enjoy.

I, I love you like a love song, baby  
I, I love you like a love song, baby  
I, I love you like a love song, baby  
And I keep hittin' re-peat-peat-peat-peat-peat

 

It wasn’t like waiting was a big thing, not anymore. It hadn’t been for some thousand years. He’d been anxious at first, darting like a spring hare from one pursuit to the next. He didn’t know what to do now that Arthur wasn’t there to order him around. But it was when he realized that he truly had to actually wait…well, it became a different game altogether.

Ironically it’s the first time that’s the longest, or maybe it just seems that way because he wants to see him so badly. All of Camelot is dim without him, but it is worth the overwhelming joy when he finally sees him again, golden and shining, to no one but him. Although, he really should have guessed it would be, what with Arthur’s inability to stay out of things he shouldn’t be involved in. Therefore the first wait was the longest. He should have known…well, he should have known. Nothing was ever easy without Arthur.

The next life is uneventful really. He gets a laugh of seeing him as a farmer’s boy but it’s only funny when thinking of the beginning, when finery was his life. After knowing he’s been raised that way it just isn’t funny anymore, though he still teases him relentlessly about it.

This time it hurts worse because, before, Arthur had an understanding wife or there was no money for a marriage. But now he watches from afar and those glances Arthur sends him when no one else is looking turns him to stone. Of course this is one of the longer lives. He has to wonder if it is fate or destiny or if it was all a joke in the first place.

When the Plague hits he prays that he can protect him. And he does, mostly. But it is quick and it’s all Merlin can do to not crawl in a hole somewhere because some disease has bested him this time. He hopes it won’t end this way again. He doesn’t think he can handle seeing Arthur in such pain, never mind everyone else dropping around him.

The worst part is when he figures out a cure.

There’s a point where he asks himself which hurts more, the time between or the time with him. But then he can’t remember why he was asking in the first place because they’ll have to hide this, like they had to every time, but now it seems to loom. And it takes a few times before it sinks in that it will be a long while until his life is not a lie and they can be seen together without people trying to stone or hang them or God knows what else.

His worst fear, that he didn’t even realize was a fear, comes true next. Arthur doesn’t remember him. There is no spark of recognition at all and now he has to figure out if he even wants to try or if he should walk away – because this is almost too much. But he tries. And the recognition never comes. It’s akin to seeing a wall that one day was wooden and contained knots and whorls that could be – and were – memorized, and every time he saw it he knew where he was. But now the wooden one is gone and there is stone that is so unfamiliar he never recognizes it no matter how he stares at it.

But Arthur is happy, if the smiles and the children are anything to go by. He should just leave it alone.

He is almost (frighteningly) grateful when it ends. And he spends days mourning the end of what was, and the end of himself.

Friends come and go and he learned ages ago that he would need to start over at least twice before Arthur would even be reborn. Two mortal lifetimes are longer than he realized, but that could be because everyone falls away eventually. Or maybe it’s because he’s watching the land and all he and Arthur ever fought for crumble to dust.

It’s when he’s readying himself for a move that he feels the familiar tug at his heartstrings. It’s only been sixty years, not nearly long enough. Perhaps this is destiny apologizing for making him forget. That must be it. He goes around the next few days in a haze, overjoyed and firmly rooting himself again so he can just start over in a few years, when Arthur is old enough. But then it all goes to hell when that constant spark in him is snuffed out. And he knows, Arthur is gone again.

That’s almost too much. He can’t even bring himself to go track him down then because he knows he’ll find a distraught family and his only consolation, though it isn’t much of one, is that at least his parents aren’t Uther and Ygraine, or they haven’t been yet if ever they will be again.

It’s dread that fills his next two lifetimes without Arthur. This living forever thing…he hadn’t liked it in the first place and sometimes…sometimes he wishes it would end.

There are days, years really, where he’s thankful that this is the lifetime Arthur’s decided to skip. There was one early on when the land was in upheaval, and shortly after, Camelot was gone. He’d been living in a cave then and trying to heal the land the best he could. He didn’t want Arthur to live in a cave.

Later, it was wars. There were always wars and each time another rises up he can’t help being reminded of Arthur, as he is every day despite not trying. He knows, deep down, no matter when or where Arthur is born, he would try to join the army, even as a lowly foot soldier. Luckily, he misses out on them, a lot of them in fact.

He should have known it was too good to last. Apparently, he should have known a whole damn lot of things.

He’s torn when there is talk of a new world. He wants to go, give himself something to do besides sitting around twiddling his thumbs like a lonely old maid. But the homeland keeps pulling him back. He goes, eventually, knowing that when the time comes he will just uproot himself again to find Arthur. So he goes for something new, anything. He is tired of seeing his homeland trodden upon. At other times it is just the thought of Camelot and how it had been razed to the ground through the years… It feels like losing Arthur for the first time all over again.

When Arthur is born this time he can already tell that it will end badly. Perhaps that is due to the twinging being much weaker than the time before. In fact, it has been so long since he’s seen the Arthur he knew that he expects it to go downhill rather quickly. He waits a certain number of years, as he always does though it kills him a bit inside, before he goes to find him.

A lord’s son this time of course, and one who’d made it to the colonies. Irony? The first time he claps eyes on him is in a busy square but something must alert him because he looks up and even from so far away Merlin can see the flash of recognition before his world goes blurry and he escapes to collapse behind the nearest building. Which is where Arthur finds him of course and gathers him into a hug before apologizing, for making him cry of all things.

He never has the heart to tell Arthur about the lifetime he’d forgotten him, not this time anyway.

Perhaps he would have, but when the war breaks out only a few years later, Arthur is right in the middle of it, red coat and all, though Merlin isn’t entirely sure what side Arthur really wants to choose. He sees how torn he is but Arthur is loyal, too loyal. That might have changed this round too, but he never got the chance.

Moving as a shadow, Merlin finds his body in the morgue later that day. Years earlier, he’d decided he disliked guns even more than swords. Yes, he’d much rather have the swords back.

He goes back to Britain.

It is like coming home, only not. The land welcomes him while the world turns a cold shoulder. Still he opts to stay in London. He isn’t sure he can live in the country anymore, despite the beauty there. Right now he needs the hustle and bustle or he just might collapse on himself. He stays there, moving around like usual but never moving out of the city, just letting it get on its feet around him. He does have to marvel at it all, despite the fact magic had long ago been phased out.

He can’t deny it hurts his absurdly tender heart, even after so many years, to see pain and suffering and all the problems of the world with each passing year. There are days, weeks, where all he wants is to wake up in Gaius’ back room again and find it all a horrible horrible nightmare.

But it doesn’t happen that way.

Instead he goes through life as a shadow, trying to set a few things into motion though they rarely come to fruition. And he can’t say that he cares much anymore. His purpose is done. Now he is just a ferryman waiting for his passenger…and losing him every time. Why should the next be any different?

And of course it isn’t. This time the twinge is so small he isn’t sure he really felt it. In fact, he’s quite sure he imagined it. So when he bumps into a very much alive Arthur whose bag is slung over his uniformed shoulder, his heart nearly stops. They stare at each other a moment before Arthur is caught in the rush of uniforms and Merlin can’t even pick him out of the throng. They all look alike. And his heart does twinge now, but for another reason.

He sees the ship in the distance, catches sight of a headfull of blond hair standing at a rail where he most certainly shouldn’t be, before his heart is cast into the sea. It is with a sinking stomach that he recognizes the wave Arthur gives him despite the distance, even though he is now standing on the dock like a lover watching their husband sail away to his death.

Because that’s what it feels like.

And a year later, he knows that’s what it was.

The war goes by and another comes too soon after to start everything again but at least this time he isn’t watching him go away again. He wonders if the last time was once too many, once too harsh for now he breaks when the bombs fall on London and he can’t see an end to this despite being there when the victory is announced over the radio.

He longs for something stable, something peaceful and for the first time in a long time settles down and gets a job. It doesn’t last long and he flits from place to place, unable to find something that calls to him. Finally it is schooling, something that he’s repeated, how many times now? But it is something to do. So he goes again, and when he’s done he teaches. During that short stretch, his and Arthur’s dreams are realized and he starts seeing couples, couples just like them, wandering the streets. They are discreet, but they are there.

Yet it’s bittersweet because there has been no twinge. He still has two more lifespans before he can start thinking that way again.

So he keeps teaching and watches the world grow around him, people everywhere, and such innovations that they are in their own way magic. But nothing can surprise him anymore.

It takes years before he realizes his discontent has grown. He goes back to school in the hopes of dispelling it, this time with something that he feels he can actually do something with it. He enters his first hospital and finds, for the first time in years, something feels right. And keeps feeling right as patients heal and he isn’t forced to sit back and watch. Or is it that he isn’t letting himself do that anymore?

To be perfectly honest he doesn’t know, nor does he care. It has been a long time since it hadn’t just been about Arthur. And he feels guilty for that.

But the twinge still doesn’t come and work pulls him through. Waking every day without something to do, what he’d done for so many long years, it was something he could never do again. Now his day revolves around his morning coffee and running to the hospital when he wakes late, which is far too often.

And that’s how it happens. He tears into the café early, orders his regular, turns around, and promptly drops it all over the expensive leather shoes of the man who has grabbed him and smells too much like stale alcohol. He glances up to see what kind of creep he’ll be knocking out and his heart catches in his throat. Slightly bloodshot eyes, messy hair, rumpled suit and all, is Arthur, staring at him like he’s a ghost.

It takes one of the waitresses coming over to mop up the mess before Arthur is sagging and he barely gets them to a chair before he collapses altogether. He knows they must look a pair of fools but Arthur still has a firm hold on him and his eyes are darting almost frantically over him. He swallows before tightening his grip and pulling just that little bit closer. “Are you real?” he asks.

And Merlin breaks, sitting on the table in front of Arthur.

“Yes.” And Arthur is real too.

A spark of something ignites in his chest, fierce and bright. At that moment it crashes over him and he wants nothing more than to be home where he can curl up and cry his heart, his body, empty. His hands come up to frame Arthur’s face and those bloodshot eyes brighten, a smile stretching to reach Merlin’s palms as suddenly everything becomes alright.

And this time he knows. He knows it will turn out in the end.

I love you...like a love song


End file.
